


Beneath the ice

by hanyou_elf



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Freezing, M/M, hopelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 03:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanyou_elf/pseuds/hanyou_elf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happened in the Artic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beneath the ice

The first thing he became aware of was the stench of ammonia. It coated the back of his throat and he had to force himself to not gag. He tried to call out, to ask his mom if she had maybe dropped the bottle, but he could feel his lungs tightening around the struggle to breath. There was also the smell of waste immediate and pervasive. He coughed and it felt like somebody had taken a knife to his throat and torn it apart. He groaned as he convulsed, dry heaving uselessly. At least he was smart enough to turn his head so he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit. 

It was a relief when darkness reclaimed him. 

*

He woke to pain. It was all encompassing. His shoulder burned and he couldn’t move it to try to relieve the pressure. His back was on fire all along his spine. He must have been caught in a grenade blast, but he didn’t remember being out on the field. He’d been fighting, but nowhere near the grenades. He groaned, struggled against the weight that held him immobile, determined to not be a prisoner of war. He’d seen what it had done to Bucky. It wouldn’t happen to him. 

There wasn’t a Bucky to save him.

He shifted and fire chased up his spine and breathed a gasping sigh of relief as darkness won him over. 

*

Steven Grant Rogers. Seven, four, twenty-two. 0-462362 T42 43 O. 

He’d enlisted in New York City in 1941, days shy of his best friend’s deployment orders. Because of the steady stream of illnesses that had plagued him as a child, he’d had to be taken under special circumstance. Granted amnesty by the influential Dr. Erskine. Having proven his worth to the German, he’d been given a serum and a concentrated burst of energy that had burned through him and transformed his body irrevocably. 

He was still alive because of the serum and the painful rays of whatever that had been. 

Steve choked despairingly at the thought of being caught in the plane for too long. They’d known where he was putting it down. Surely they’d be able to find him. Surely they wouldn’t forget about him. 

Tears flooded his eyes as he begged for the return of the darkness. 

*

He could feel water moving around him, could hear it trickling behind him. Steve couldn’t move: he was trapped in an awkward angle, held immobile by debris and something heavy that burned through his memories. Terror was a hot ball in his chest, a hot taste of something sour and disgusting.

The smell of waste and ammonia had faded, but his clothes were stiff. The clothes were torn and he could feel the rush of frigidity enveloping him. It was hard to breath. But it was alright. He just had to wait for the rescue team. Surely they would find him soon; surely they would rescue him and pull him out of the depths of the wreckage. The trickling water was worrisome; he would be submerged eventually, especially if the water was moving quickly. 

*

He could remember Bucky’s touch. The way it had felt to have the other man pressed against him. He could remember the taste of Bucky on his tongue. Could remember the way it felt to sink into Bucky’s lap, the hard flesh burning through him. He could remember the way it had felt to make love to his best friend. The perfect and complete power that it had given him. 

He fisted his hands, one at his side and one above his head somewhere. He missed Bucky; needed to feel something aside from the pervasive cold, from the overwhelming fear that he would be forgotten. 

Why hadn’t they found him yet? Even if they thought he was dead, they would have come for the ruins of the plane. Such technology shouldn’t be left in the middle of nowhere for just anyone to find. 

Instead, he had to focus on Bucky. Had to focus on what it felt for him to be pressed against his lover against all odds. It was all he had to focus on. 

*

He was losing hope. He felt powerless and unloved. It was so hard to think positively anymore, especially with the reminder of his abandonment so very solid around him. He could feel ice on his hands and he was terrified. The serum had made him resistant, but surely not immortal. He didn’t know how long he would have. It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks at most. 

He was terrified of being alone. Terrified of being forgotten. He’d been given the serum and he still wasn’t worth being remembered. He sighed through the pain of his body and clenched his eyes tightly shut as he waited for the darkness to return.

*

When he woke again, he could feel the ice around him. It clawed at his torn and too stiff uniform. It permeated everything. But it had been helpful enough to finally take the pain of his predicament away. He was trapped and forgotten. But at least this time, he was paying attention to where he was. He was in the broken cockpit he’d beaten the Red Skull in. He could see the broken remains of the steering console could feel the heart-stopping nausea of slamming to what he had been sure was certain doom. 

And then he woke up. Trapped and alone. He was still in the Skull’s plane, still trapped. He was far from his broken group of Commandos and the beautiful and powerful Peggy Carter. He sobbed a choking and gasping breath in as he waited for darkness to return. 

*

Steve blinked his eyes open slowly before he slammed them shut again, barely able to focus on the overwhelming stimulation assaulting his senses. His body felt warm, but not the burning of being frozen for too long. His muscles were sore and his arms were close, next to his side, and it had been too long since the last time they'd been there. 

He shifted uncomfortably as his body tingled with the warming up and the freedom from the plane. The hospital room smelled the same as it always did, overwhelming antiseptic and clean. He could feel scratchy cotton stretched across his chest and heavy boots tied to his feet. Why'd they put the boots back on? 

His ears honed in on the sound of the baseball game, tinny and wrong over the sound of the street outside of the window. It was nice to have some of home in the base hospital. Until he heard the call.

He'd taken Bucky to that game. They'd sat in the top row and had linked pinky fingers together over the edge of the rough wooden seat. And after they'd gotten home to their small apartment, he'd gotten his first kiss.

He blinked his eyes open, controlling the panic that fluttered in his gut and closed his throat. He wasn't... 

"Welcome back, Captain."


End file.
